


Let there be light

by takingoffmyshoes



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, Winter, friendshippy stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 21:50:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3504020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takingoffmyshoes/pseuds/takingoffmyshoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin's awake before he knows why, a warm hand on his shoulder and the echo of his whispered name hanging in the room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let there be light

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own neither BBC Merlin nor Pierrefonds, for all that I have lovingly stuck it with the unflattering nickname "Castle Rock Bottom."

Merlin's awake before he knows why, a warm hand on his shoulder and the echo of his whispered name hanging in the room.

It's dark, still, but it's not hard to make out Arthur, crouched down by his bed. Merlin's first instinct is to ask, "what's wrong," because Arthur never comes down here without good - and often grave - reason, let alone before dawn.

But Arthur is calm. Not tense-calm, or angry-calm, or pretend-calm. Just...there. Relaxed, unhurried. That's a rare thing of late, so instead Merlin whispers, "What is it?"

"Come with me," Arthur says softly. "There's something I want to show you."

He stands, and Merlin realises that he's dressed for the cold in both his long leather coat and a heavy cloak. He's also holding a bundle of something under his arm, and Merlin's adjusting eyes pick out wools and furs.

It doesn't occur to him to protest. There's a simplicity to the situation that is utterly foreign but somehow not out of place. There is no deception, no desperation, no discussion, no doubt. The silence that hangs between them like frosted breath - Merlin's room is _cold_ in the winter - is easy, full of words that don't need to be said because there is nothing to say.

Merlin pulls on the tunic, the jacket, and the cloak, pulls on his boots, and then takes the gloves Arthur holds out. All of the garments are heavy and warm, the fur-lined cloak the most luxurious Merlin's ever worn, the tunic the softest wool and the jacket the thickest.

He accepts everything without question, knowing better than to think they are gifts and knowing, too, without reason, that Arthur will ask them back as wordlessly as he offered them.

He gives Arthur a short nod once he's ready. Arthur returns it, and slips out of the room. Merlin follows as he leads the winding way through a handful of corridors and up countless steps. They keep to the side routes, Merlin thinks, though not even the rest of the servants will yet be up to see them.

At the top of a cramped, twisting tower staircase, Arthur stops and turns back. "You'll want those gloves now," he says, and waits for Merlin to comply before pulling on his own. Then he turns a key, lifts a latch, and pushes open a stout wooden door. 

The rush of icy air that chases itself down the stairs is literally breathtaking - Merlin's chest stills for three seconds, four, before blowing out a sharp, billowing breath. Arthur is already through the doorway, standing out on the ramparts and limned in gold against the rising sun. A fog of glittering crystals surrounds him, sparkling brilliantly in the earliest of the sunlight, and some quiet part of Merlin's mind whispers _diamond dust_ , as though that's supposed to mean something. At first he thinks it's snowing, but then realises that the rush of air must have disturbed the snow already on the ground for the air is still and almost painfully crisp as he emerges from the protection of stone walls. His boots crunch on powdery snow as he moves to join Arthur, looking out over the landscape.

For the second time in as many minutes, Merlin's very lungs seem to freeze.

The far-off horizon is bleeding gold into the fading blue darkness above, and crystalline white softens the silhouettes of all in sight. Trees, roofs, and fields all stand silently coated in snow that whispers back flecks of sunlight as climbing rays caress its surface. Pale chimney smoke from town wends lazily upwards, trying to reach the last of the cold winter stars, clinging to their light in the face of encroaching day. The meeting of day and night, light and dark, is so viscerally, achingly beautiful that Merlin shivers.

"Are you cold?" Arthur asks quietly. A plume of white floats out with the question.

"No," Merlin answers, honestly, just as quiet. "Overwhelmed."

"It's beautiful, isn't it? It's so still, like we're the only ones who know the world is awake."

They stand in silence for several minutes, watching the sun grow paler and stronger as it creeps into the now rose-coloured sky.

A fine dusting of snow has settled in Arthur's hair and along his shoulders. He doesn't seem to notice. He's hardly moved since stopping at the low wall. He's just standing, arms folded, utterly relaxed in air that could freeze his blood.

"How often do you come out here?" Merlin breaks the silence as gently as possible.

"I like being up early in the winter," Arthur says simply, and it's not an answer but Merlin knows what he means. At least, he thinks he does. Thinks that maybe standing in the breathless stillness of the sunrise, watching the light return after a long darkness, is comforting. The winter night is a lonely time, the world trapped between the sweeping expanses of snow and stars, and standing it in, it's easy to be aware of how small you are, how alone, how insignificant. 

Merlin doesn't ask if it helps Arthur to be reminded of his solitude. Doesn't ask if he finds it humbling to stand beneath a black, pin-pricked sky and remember that he is but one man with but one lifetime. Doesn't ask if he needs to see the sunrise to reassure himself that they've made it through another night. 

Doesn't ask why Arthur chose to share it with him.

That, too, he thinks he knows.

So they stand, warm in the hushed dawn, and wait for something that will be neither hurried nor delayed.

At last the sun rises above the most determined tree branch, and it's like a dam of liquid warmth breaking. Merlin has to be imagining it - the sun can't be that strong, not so deep in winter - but Arthur seems to feel it too, and closes his eyes against the light. 

A single bell toll rolls out then, announcing the change of guard, and Arthur lets out a long, slow breath. Merlin finds himself doing the same, and imagines that in that moment the entire kingdom gives a sigh of relief.

They've made it to another day.

 

(Later, when Merlin tries to give back the tunic and jacket and cloak and gloves, Arthur will refuse as casually as he is able. "Keep them," he'll say without looking, already turned away to give his attention to something more pressing. "I have others. And besides," he'll add, not quite able to keep Merlin from hearing the hope in his voice, "you might need them again."

Merlin does.

Day by day, Camelot makes it through the winter.)

**Author's Note:**

> For Linguam, who is wonderful, and for winter, which I love in its time but which really needs to be over now.


End file.
